When We Were Young
by Love Out Of Lust
Summary: A seventeen year old Brendan struggles with his feelings for his sister's friend Ste
1. Chapter 1

First day back at school, and it's time to see him again. Brendan's managed to avoid him all summer. Whenever the boy's come round to the house he's made a swift exit, gone down to the beach with the lads. Even spending time with Malachy and his younger brother Francis is preferable to bumping into him, all gawky angles, full red lips and eyelashes that should belong to a cartoon character rather than a human being.

Almost every day over the summer he's been unable to escape before he's heard the boy's laugh booming out of the living room. It's filled his ears even when Brendan's run down the garden path. It's the loudest fucking sound in the world, and Brendan's strongly starting to believe that it may also be the best.

He's pressed Cheryl on it so many times that he worries she's starting to get suspicious.

"_When did you two get so close?"_

"_He's my friend, Bren! He's in all my classes at school. You should get to know him, he's a nice guy."_

_Brendan would snort cynically._

"_In all your classes? You mean when he's not bunking off and smoking at the pier? Everyones seen him."_

"_You just don't know him," she'd reply defensively._

"_I don't want to know him. I mean...look at him."_

_She'd square her eyes at him. "And what's that supposed to mean?"_

_He'd shrug his shoulders, trying to appear aloof. "Nothing. It's just...what's wrong with Lynsey? I thought she was your best friend."_

_She'd get that smile on her face then, her eyes twinkling. "You sure do mention Lynsey a lot."_

Lynsey. The prettiest girl in the whole of Cheryl's year. Brendan had heard the guys talking about her. She may have been a year younger than the lads in his class, but it didn't stop her from being locker room material. Her legs in a skirt. Her milky white complexion which contrasted against her long dark hair. Those compliments were some of the more tasteful ones.

Brendan could barely stand it, listening to the way people talked about her. She wasn't like some of the girls in the school, giving it away for half a kitkat behind the bike sheds. She was _good_.

He could only imagine what the guy's would be saying about Cheryl if they weren't too scared of what he'd do to them.

The first day back, and it's already like a fashion show. Cheryl wakes up at 6am and starts getting ready. The sound of the shower and her dropping her vast make up collection in the bathroom is enough to wake him from his sleep.

By the time they're ready to leave the house they're already ten minutes late.

"Hurry up, won't you?" Brendan shouts up the stairs.

He knows exactly who Cheryl's trying to impress. He hasn't got the heart to tell her that it's never going to happen, that Malachy sees her like a younger sister. That he's a waste of space anyway, and Cheryl deserves the world.

When at last she comes down, Brendan tries to keep a straight face. Her head of curls are out in full force, and she's wearing the brightest dress he's ever seen, its floral pattern reminding him of particularly unattractive curtains.

She totters down in a large black pair of heels, clutching the banister to keep from falling. She smells strongly of perfume, and her lipstick is the darkest shade of red.

"Do you think they're going to let you into college like that?"

"What about what the girls in your year wear?"

"None of them is my baby sister."

"Bren, I can finally wear the clothes I want after five years stuck in that hideous uniform. Cut me some slack."

Sighing in exasperation, Brendan knows he's fighting a losing battle.

"Fine. Come on then. Lets go."

Grabbing her bag, Cheryl pauses by the door. "By the way, Ste's meeting us by the gates. Be nice, yeah?" She adds warningly.

Brendan immediately feels his stomach tense, and he wishes he'd said no to the fry up his mum had made. It's churning around in him uncomfortably now, and he's scared he'll be sick all over his desk.

Perhaps there's some way he can keep from seeing him. He could run ahead of Cheryl before they're at the gates, or avoid the boy's eyes.

He inwardly curses himself. He's acting like he's scared of some stupid sixteen year old, of lanky_ Steven Hay_, a guy who could be blown over by the wind. Brendan could destroy him with one punch.

Besides, maybe these...thoughts that he's been having recently have gone. A whole three months has been between them since they last properly saw each other. Perhaps Steven's changed since the last time he saw him, losing that golden tone to his skin like he's been dipped in the sweetest, glossiest honey. Maybe he'll no longer say his name in that particular way of his, _Brendunnn_, that pathetically sends shivers down his spine.

They make it to the gates at last, Cheryl leaning on Brendan for support every now and then when her heels give way.

"Are they even your size?"

"Yes! Why, do I look...weird?"

Her bottom lip quivers ever so slightly.

"Well when you're managing to stand up you look real..." Cheryl stares at him hopefully. "Pretty."

"Aw, thanks." She gives him a kiss on the cheek, and he smears the lipstick stain away that he knows will be there.

"Right, where's that idiot mate of yours?" Brendan asks, crossing his arms.

"Uh...we're right in front of him, Bren."

Brendan blinks, registering the guy that his eyes had idly travelled over moments before. He focuses properly this time, even though it goes against every promise he had made to himself before. Looking at Steven is dangerous. He came to learn that the hard way, when he'd lie awake at night going over his features in his mind.

He should have recognised him before. He doesn't know why he didn't, because the boy is still in many respects the same, those long sooty eyelashes, the high jutting cheekbones, the light blue eyes. The way he stands is the same, slumping against the iron gates casually, lazily, like he's got all the time in the world to kill.

But he has grown since Brendan last saw him. He still wouldn't come up to Brendan's height, but he's not far off. And he's out of that uniform now which had hidden that skinny little body of his. Only it turns out he's not so skinny and little anymore. He has padded out over the summer, and the boniness has transformed to something more toned, more solid. Brendan strongly believes he could still wrap a hand around the entirely of Steven's stomach, but there is definitely more of him now.

And that skin. He must have been at the pier a lot this summer, or wherever he likes to go and smoke and drink, because his skin's caught the sun, and it's more bronzed than ever. Brendan wonders what it would taste like against his tongue, the smooth slip slide of it.

Fuck.

Steven is dressed casually, almost like he just threw on his jogging bottoms and baggy white t-shirt, but there is a beautiful contrast between someone with such delicate, almost feminine like features wearing something so masculine. He is a strange mixture of toughness and vulnerability. Brendan doesn't know whether he wants to hold his face gently in his hands or push him onto the nearest desk and tear his clothes off with his teeth.

He settles for looking down at the pavement while Cheryl runs towards the boy as fast as she can in her shoes, arms outstretched.

They make fucking _cooing_ noises. Brendan wants to hammer his fist into the wall.

"I've missed you so much!" Cheryl squeals excitedly.

"You only saw him the other day," Brendan mutters under his breath.

They ignore him, hugging and smiling. Brendan glances up and can't help but notice Steven's arms over Cheryl's back. He's got good hands. Strong, hairy. Looks like they could do a bit of their own damage, if put to use.

"Alright, Brendan?" He says, nodding in his direction.

There it is again. _Brendunnn. _That Manchester accent, unmistakable.

"I'm surprised you're here. Thought you'd already be bunking off somewhere."

"Brendan! A simple hello will do nicely, you grumpy git," Cheryl admonishes.

"Hmmm," he grumbles, shifting from foot to foot. He feels nervous. _Nervous_. He hates that emotion, wants to beat it out of himself.

"It's alright Cheryl, I'm used to it, aren't I?" Steven says, and there's amusement in his voice. "I think I've had to deal with the fact that your brother just doesn't like me." He sighs dramatically.

He's taking the piss. The cheeky little...

"Not cool enough for you, am I Brendan?" He challenges.

Brendan looks up to meet his gaze. It's like looking at molten lava.

Steven is doing that thing where his bottom lip juts out, and he doesn't look away, doesn't hesitate for less than a second. Barely even blinks. Brendan hates how he does that, how he's one of the only people at this school who isn't afraid of him.

Brendan opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it. Everything is caught on his tongue, the overwhelming feeling of seeing Steven again clouding his judgement.

He shuffles past Cheryl and Steven, making sure that not an inch of his skin touches the boy's.

He hears Cheryl shouting bye at him, but keeps on moving. This is exactly what he's been dreading for the past week of the holidays. He had begun to train himself to switch it off, like his feelings were a leaky tap that he could unscrew, but he should of known that Steven is like poison, constantly dripping in his mind.

Brendan mumbles an apology to his teacher for being late. Peter has saved him a space, and nods over to him. Brendan sits down awkwardly, is still not used to this, to being Peter's friend again, of trying to act like everything is the way it was. Peter makes it easy on him though, talking a mile a minute and making plans to go to the beach later that day. Brendan is grateful to him for never mentioning that day. It's almost like his friend thinks he has nothing to be ashamed of, which is ridiculous in itself. He has _everything_ to be ashamed of.

During their morning break they sit out on the benches. Peter waves Malachy over, hisses at Brendan to _give him a chance, won't you?_ when he complains, and Francis joins them, tagging along like a bad smell. He doesn't get on well with the people in his own year. Cheryl takes him under her wing at times, seems to have a thing for misfits, but it only makes the other guys tease him more, calling Francis _that strange kid, the one who likes to dress up in those girls clothes. _Brendan has no idea if the rumours are true, has never seen Francis in anything but his trousers and shirts, but he knows there is something going on, and the way Malachy shields him only adds to his theory.

Francis perches nervously on the edge of the bench while Brendan sprawls out on it, shades covering his eyes.

"We're going to the beach later. Fancy it, Mal?" Peter asks.

"Can't. I've got a date."

Brendan rolls his eyes, glad that no one can see. Malachy's always got a date, can't seem to stop the line of girls he's got queuing up for him. Brendan can't understand why, can't see what's so fucking special about him. He's one of those nosy types, the kind who's up in everyones business, especially Brendan's. Always wanting to know the ins and outs, how Brendan makes the money that pays for his new computer and widescreen tv. Fucking Malachy. If it wasn't for his friendship with Peter and Cheryl's crush on him, Brendan would be tempted to introduce his body to the nearest shallow ditch.

"Who's the lucky girl this time?"

"Lynsey."

Brendan sits up at that.

"Lynsey Nolan?" He questions.

"I don't see any other Lynsey's around here, do you?" Smart ass.

Brendan swallows.

"Something wrong, Bren?" Peter asks, looking at him. Even through his shades he can read him like an open book.

Cheryl will be devastated. Brendan can see it now, her crying on his shoulder about it, ignoring Lynsey for months, calling her every name under the sun. It'll only push her closer to Steven, and then he'll be round at the house even more than he already is...

"When did you ask her?" Lynsey must have not told Cheryl yet. There's no way she'd have been so calm and happy, walking about in her pulling clothes.

"Well technically I haven't yet..."

Brendan can't help but smirk. He pulls his sunglasses off, and surveys Malachy.

"So she hasn't said yes?"

Malachy frowns at him, that tick in his cheek already going off.

"She will, Brady."

Annoyingly, he's probably not wrong. He's seen the way they've talked when they're together, none of that shyness in Lynsey that's always there when Cheryl's around him. Malachy's older than her, and Brendan can just imagine her being flattered to be asked out by someone like him.

He lies back on the bench, letting Malachy chatter on about where he's going to take Lynsey, how he's been after her for ages, how he's not going to play around anymore, that she could be girlfriend material. Brendan drowns the sound of his voice out and starts to desperately think. He can't let Cheryl be hurt like that, can't take the sadness and the tears that are to come. He could tell Malachy about Cheryl's feelings for him. He's pretty sure even a bastard like him isn't heartless enough to act after that. But he knows Cheryl will never forgive him.

Suddenly it comes to him, the solution so obvious that he wonders how he didn't think of it before. He waits till after school and then stands outside Cheryl's classroom, waiting for her to come out. As he expected she's surrounded by Steven and Lynsey, all closely huddled together like they're surgically attached. Ignoring Steven, he touches Lynsey's arm.

"Can I have a word, Lyns?"

She waves off Cheryl and Steven, and he moves until they're in a quiet corner. He's never done this before. Any encounter in the past has been at nighttime, usually on a deserted section of the beach, or better yet, right in front of his mates. Something where he can say to them, _look, I did it. I kissed a girl, I'm normal. _

But this is the first time he's ever asked someone out.

He's surprised when it comes to him easily.

"Do you want to go out with me sometime, Lynsey?" He comes out with it straight off the bat, no messing around. There's not a hint of nervousness in his voice, and he wonders why the hell none of this matters to him.

He watches Lynsey's face, the shocked expression turning to one of delight.

"You mean...as more than friends?"

He nods, and she positively beams at him, as bright as sunshine. He wishes he could feel something, _anything_, because she's beautiful, and if he could feel something for anyone it would be for her.

"Of course," she says, and Brendan feels guilt in the pit of his stomach at the way she's staring at him.

"I didn't even know you liked me like that," she continues.

Brendan knows that the way he acts around Lynsey is different to other guys. He has come into the kitchen in his boxers while she and Cheryl are making a midnight snack in the past. While she has blushed and looked away, he has carried on talking to them, not even caring when he accidentally brushes up against her skin.

He can talk to her about school, about whatever mind numbingly dull book they're studying in English. She has even asked his opinion on what dress to wear to a party. He sees her like he sees Cheryl, a little sister who needs protecting.

He has never imagined kissing her, or what the taste or smell of her would be like. It wouldn't be that bad though, would it? He's sure he could do that if he had to, if it meant keeping her away from Malachy, and Steven away from him. Lynsey's not the kind of girl who would want more. He's sure of it.

"Well I do like you. For a long time now." It scares him how easily he can lie.

He organises some rough details of his date with Lynsey. Sets a time, pretends that he has some special idea brewing in his mind, although he couldn't even begin to guess what a girl would want to do on a date. Light candles? Get roses? Have some song playing which she can then listen to on repeat? He'll have to ask Peter.

He heads to the beach afterwards. He finds it's a kind of refuge these days, that it gets him out of the house for as long as possible so he doesn't have to see his dad, doesn't have to breathe the same toxic air as him.

Malachy and Francis aren't there when he arrives, and he wonders if Malachy has already asked out Lynsey. Imagining his face at her rejection makes this whole thing worthwhile.

A year ago the chance to be alone with Peter would have both thrilled and terrified Brendan in equal measure. At one point he didn't think he could ever grow tired of simply watching his best friend. Whether he was just lying on the sand or splashing Brendan with sea water, it didn't seem to matter. He was just _there_, always at the forefront of Brendan's mind, something he wanted so badly he thought he'd choke from it.

Now Brendan walks towards him on the sand with trepidation. Peter is an expert at hiding things, at keeping his cards close to his chest, but Brendan can see from the paleness of his complexion that he's just as nervous as he is.

"Brendan, wait up!"

Brendan turns around at the sound of his sister's voice, and is not sure that he's ever been so relieved to see someone.

Then his stomach drops.

Steven lights up a cigarette as he moves towards him, the smoke blowing in the wind.

"What are you two doing here?" He tries to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"We thought we'd join you!" Brendan sees Cheryl looking around his shoulder eagerly.

"He's not here."

"Who?"

"Malachy."

"Oh." Cheryl's face drops.

"Doesn't matter. We can still stay, can't we Chez?" Steven asks, and Brendan could swear that he looks directly at him, as if begging for him to argue back.

Brendan stares down at Cheryl's bare feet.

"What happened to your shoes?"

"Her feet started bleeding. It was proper rank."

Fucking Steven. Always interrupting, and always, _always_ talking.

"Why don't you go home, Chez? Get a plaster or something."

"Sounds like you're trying to get rid of us, Brendan," Steven says, eyebrows raised.

"Come on Bren, there's room for two more! We can't hog the whole beach," Peter yells from behind him.

Brendan clenches his fists, but relents, charging over to Peter. He needs to be away from _him_, to stop feeling this strange electricity coursing through him.

Brendan sets up a spot near the rocks, laying down his towel and lying on his back. Peter sits down beside him, starting on the stack of homework that he's already received. Sometimes Brendan doesn't know how he ended up with a best friend who does what he's told, who follows deadlines and says his pleases and thank yous. He's grateful to whoever sent him his way though.

At first Steven just sits on the sand next to Cheryl, puffing away on his cigarette and staring out at the water. Brendan tries to look away and ignore the way his arms look when he leans against them, how hairy his legs are with his jogging bottoms rolled up.

_I can do this. It's just a...a silly little thing. It's going to go away. Maybe I'll go out with Lynsey, and I'll feel something when I kiss her. It'll make everything okay. Maybe this will be the girl._

Steven abruptly stands up. Brendan thinks he's leaving, and begins to feel the pounding in his heart lessen, but then the boy begins to slowly slip his trousers down, until they're at his ankles.

He must be imagining things. He wants to shout at the top of his lungs, to ask the boy what the fuck he thinks he's doing, that this isn't some nudist beach, that he can't just do things like that. He turns to Peter, hoping to find a similarly appalled expression on his face, but he's still absorbed in his homework, not even bothering to glance up.

It's only when Steven lifts his t-shirt up that Brendan realises he's wearing a pair of swimming trunks underneath. He must have changed into them before he and Cheryl headed over to the beach.

His legs are just as hairy as Brendan has always pictured. He's heard the names his father has called the boy. _Feminine. Poof. Queer. _But he can't see a single thing that's anything but masculine about Steven now.

When he removes his t-shit the provocative little git actually turns round. Brendan looks down at his bag, concentrates on the straps of his rucksack, but he chances a glance up at the boy like it's gravity pulling him.

Steven's chest is covered by a surprising trail of dark hair leading to his groin. Brendan hadn't expected that, and he finds he can't take his eyes off it. He can also see a peek of the tattoo that he's heard rumours about, the one that Steven had got done after convincing some crook that he was eighteen. It suits him, and as he continues to drag on the cigarette while he straightens out his trunks, Brendan has never seen anything more sexy.

Steven turns back around and pads towards the sea, and also contrary to what his father says, he doesn't run like a girl either. He moves with confidence, his arse swaying the smallest amount, mesmerising.

He continues watching as Steven disappears beneath the waves before emerging again. The boy's crazy. It's September, and despite the sun being out, it must still be freezing in there. But that's one thing Brendan's observed about Steven already. He's fearless. Out in the ocean he looks completely free, splashing about like a kid, not even glancing back at the shoreline like Brendan desperately wants him to do.

_Just look at me once._

Brendan shuffles forward on the sand to join Cheryl.

"How was your first day back?"

"The usual. School is school," he replies. "How did the others like your dress?"

She stares down at it, threading the material through her fingertips.

"Why didn't you tell me that I look like a clown?"

He bites on his bottom lip. "Was that not the look you were going for?"

"Oi!" She elbows him in the ribs, and he chuckles. "Remind me to burn this dress when we get back."

"Will do."

Brendan looks at Steven floating on the water on his back, face raised towards the sun. He knows the boy will get even more golden. It's as though all the elements are against him, trying to make Steven as irresistible as possible.

"Cheryl."

"Mmmm?"

"Is Steven your boyfriend?" It's out in a rush of word vomit before he can stop himself.

She baulks at his words. "Ste? My Ste?"

Brendan worries she's just answered his question for him. He's surprised when Cheryl shakes her head.

"God, no! What made you think that?"

Granted, he's never seen them kissing. But the way they are together, watching films spooning on the sofa, constantly giggling and hugging. What is he meant to think?

"So you're not together, then?"

She laughs, and he feels like he's missing a step.

"What's so funny?"

"Uh...well okay, but don't go mad, Bren. I know what you're like about these things."

He frowns.

"Ste's..." she hesitates, not taking her eyes off Brendan, assessing his reaction. "Ste's gay."

"He's gay? Fuck sake Chez, you're hanging around with a -"

"I knew you'd be like this! See, this is why I didn't want to tell you. You're just like dad about those kind of things."

_Just like dad. _Cheryl has no idea how those words have the capacity to wound him above all else.

"But it's not...it's not normal." He gives himself an A* in terms of effort. He sounds truly disgusted right now.

"Why not?" Cheryl argues back angrily. "He's just the same as you and me. He just likes sucking other guys cocks."

Brendan's eyes widen. "Cheryl!" He has never heard her talk like this. His baby sister.

"It's true! What's so bad about that? I'm so sick of everyone at school whispering about him and Francis, just because they're different. I'd rather be like them than be boring."

"You're not boring," Brendan replies, gentler now.

"Yeah? Well then why doesn't Mal like me?"

Brendan slings an arm around her shoulder loosely. "Because he's an idiot. I've told you this. You're better off going for a nice guy, someone like Peter."

"I don't want Pete, Bren."

Brendan can't fight her over that. He knows what it's like, not wanting the right person.

"I wish you and Ste could be friends," Cheryl sniffs into his shoulder. "I know you'd like him if you got to know him. He's lovely, not at all like everyone thinks he is."

Steven has built quite a reputation. Everyone at school knows about the absentee father, the step dad who gives him the bruises which cover him, the alcoholic mother who has turned up at parents evening rotten drunk. Everyone knows that Steven is a thread away from being chucked out of school for his absences and smoking on the grounds.

And everyone knows that he's gay. Brendan doesn't want to tell her about the rumours that he sucks mens cocks for money, that he'll go further if the price is right. And besides...if Brendan tells Cheryl he knows, then what does that tell her about him? Will she come to recognise something wrong in him, something that makes him see that in another person?

"You really think I could ever be friends with someone like that, sis?" He dismisses, and feels her sighing against him. He doesn't blame her if she's ashamed of him.

Steven comes out of the sea then. His hair is damp and shining, and water particles drop off his skin. His chest rises and falls as he runs over to them on the sand.

He sits down beside Brendan, barely an inch of space separating them. He takes out a chocolate bar from his bag, unwraps it and starts sucking on the coating.

"It's not fair. You eat rubbish and you stay looking like that," Cheryl complains.

Ste grins at the remark and carries on eating, legs lying flat in front of him, so unself conscious of his body, of who he is. Brendan's never seen anything like it.

"Screw this, I'm sick of dieting to try and impress someone who isn't even here." Cheryl stands up. "You got any food, Pete?" She asks, moving towards him.

_Please, don't leave me_ Brendan inwardly begs. But he can't attract any attention to how impossible this is, how his skin is uncomfortably hot just being in the same vicinity as the boy.

Steven seems as blaséas ever, wiggling his bare toes in the sand, seemingly unaffected by Cheryl's absence. Brendan prays that he doesn't notice what a squirming mess he is beside him.

"I love coming here," Ste says softly after a second, and Brendan almost jumps from the sound of his voice, so low, almost intimate.

"Yeah?" He mutters.

"Especially at night."

Oh yes, Brendan's heard _all_ about what he likes to do at night.

"It's dead peaceful."

That he hadn't expected. He doesn't know how fucking some old guy for cash could ever qualify as peaceful.

"Who do you come here with?" Brendan asks, curious, wondering if Steven will tell him the truth.

"Just me sometimes. I just smoke down here. It's nice, being away from..." He pauses. There's no need to fill in the gap.

"Is it true...about your family?" Brendan has no idea whats led him to ask such a bold question. He's ready for Steven to tell him to fuck off, to stop prying into his life where he's not wanted. To show some of that mouthiness that Brendan has heard on occasion.

But he surprises him by his silence, by the way he looks down at his hands, as if carefully considering the answer.

"Yes. I don't know what you've heard exactly...but yes. It's probably true. All of it."

Brendan imagines Steven's small, skinny body being attacked by someone larger than him. Of having his ribs kicked in, his head bashed against a wall. Of his mother lying unconscious on the sofa, not protecting him.

"I'm sorry." It spills out of him, this ugly truth, ugly because Brendan doesn't want to be sorry for this kid, doesn't want to _feel_ anything for him.

Steven looks him in the eye, no trace of tears, and Brendan knows what that's like. Being so fucked up beyond repair that the tears don't even show anymore.

"You know what the weirdest thing is, Brendan? I believe you."

His face is so beautiful that Brendan almost doesn't believe it could be carved by the hands of God, doesn't see how a God would be that cruel to him, to place a man before him who could tempt him so much.

He looks like a broken little boy, but there is still that familiar toughness there, and when Steven raises his shoulders it's like he's desperately shrugging off his emotions.

He takes a cigarette out of his pocket when he's finished with the chocolate bar.

"Jesus, you do know those will kill you, don't you?"

Steven looks at him, fag hanging out of his mouth, it moving while he speaks.

"I like having something in my mouth," he says, then lets out that laugh of his.

Brendan feels heat spreading to his cheeks, looks down at the sand while the boy continues to laugh, the filthy fucker. Why isn't he hiding it? Why does he make comments like that, comments which would have Seamus putting a noose around his neck if Brendan would dare to speak them at home? He can't understand it, how someone like Steven, someone from his background, could possibly flaunt who he is like that, like he hasn't got a single fear. It's unnerving.

Brendan makes sure to move not so subtly away from him on the sand, to let him know that he's not having any part in this. Steven can keep his fucking oral fixation to himself. He's not like him.

Brendan's relief is palpable when Cheryl comes back to sit beside them. He moves back towards Peter, thankful for his friend's easy company. Maybe they really can get past what happened between them.

It isn't long before the sun begins to go in and they start packing up their things. Brendan thinks about what's to face him. Another night at home, his mum a silent presence in her bedroom, his dad taking up the whole house without even saying a single word. He keeps his mind and his eyes focused on Cheryl, on the fact that she'll be there, that he has to be around to look after her.

It's when they're half way down the beach that he spots him. He can practically sense Cheryl tense from beside him, her excitement building. She hurriedly pats down her hair, asking Ste a thousand times if she looks okay, and _I knew I shouldn't have eaten those bloody crisps, thanks a lot Pete. _

Brendan knows what's coming, can almost feel the anger crackling in the air. When Malachy finally reaches them he doesn't even make an attempt at any words, instead charging straight for Brendan, his fist coming up.

Brendan ducks, missing his punch by mere inches. Malachy tries again, but there's shouting this time, Cheryl's confused screech filling his ears. Hands reach out to block Malachy, Peter trying to drag him away while Malachy protests and fights him furiously.

Brendan would gladly have it out with him, has been waiting for this day for what feels like years, wishing for the time when he'd be able to give the bastard exactly what he deserves. But Peter's hands are holding Malachy in place, and the strength of him stops him from doing any damage.

"What the hell are you doing?" It is Steven who yells out, and Brendan momentarily feels like the breath has been kicked out of him. There is concern in his voice, concern for _him_, and the unmistakable sound of anger.

"You're a fucking idiot, Brendan," Malachy spits, and Brendan finds himself smiling, quite enjoying the sight of him struggling in Peter's firm hold.

"I don't understand. What's he done?" Cheryl implores.

Brendan knows now that it's going to come out one way or the other. That Cheryl's heart is about to be crushed into a million pieces, and he can do nothing but stand by and watch, and try to put it back together again.

"You knew I liked her. You knew I was going to ask her out today."

Brendan pretends to look dumb founded. "Sorry mate," he says the word like it's acid. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Lynsey! I just called her, and it turns out she's already been asked out, by a guy she really likes apparently. A guy called Brendan!"

"Funny that," Brendan says, over enunciating every word.

Malachy makes another futile attempt to lunge at him.

"I don't..." Cheryl whispers beside him. "What...Lynsey?" Her mouth opens like a gawping fish, tears filling her eyes.

Malachy stares at her, and Brendan can see it beginning to click into place for him. Their friendship. The way she acts around him. Why it's hurting so much now.

"Cheryl, I..." The anger has left Malachy's voice, and he looks like he wishes he could be swallowed by a black hole.

"I have to go," she says, and pushes past him.

"Chez!" Brendan calls, but she ignores him, running across the sand.

"Cheryl, do you want me to come?" Steven shouts to her, but she's already gone, up on the pavement quicker than lightning.

"Get off me, Pete," Malachy growls.

"Only if you promise not to go crazy."

He sighs. "Okay, I promise." Peter reluctantly lets him go.

Brendan braces himself, but Malachy merely stares at him.

"Why did you do it, Brendan? Was it to get back at me for something?"

Fucking drama queen, as always.

"I like her. I wanted her. I got her," he says, like it's a simple equation.

Malachy shakes his head disgustedly, then turns around and walks away.

Peter stares at Brendan. "I can't fault your taste, mate. Lynsey...well chosen."

"Thanks," Brendan says, as if this means anything to him. He is being congratulated on wanting something he doesn't even want.

Peter continues looking at him, and Brendan knows exactly what he's thinking. _Please, please don't say it._

"I better go and check on Mal, though. You know what he's like."

They wave their goodbyes, and it's only when he's gone that Brendan remembers Steven by his side, unmoving, like a silent, beautiful statue. Right now it feels like they're the only two people on the beach.

They pick up their rucksacks again, and continue their journey along the sand.

Brendan doesn't know what to talk about, couldn't even imagine what it is that Cheryl and Steven gossip about every day at school. Somehow he thinks football won't cut it, and he can't stand the thing himself, can't play worth a damn.

He doesn't know what music the boy's into, although could wager a bet that it's that dance or RnB crap, what with the way he dresses. He can't bear to start up some mindless conversation about it.

"So, that was awkward back there," Steven says suddenly, breaking the silence.

Brendan grunts. Awkward's one way to put it. He won't forget the way Peter looked at him for a while.

"Lynsey's a really pretty girl."

"Wouldn't have thought she'd be your type," Brendan says before he can stop himself. He half expects Steven to deny it.

"Just because she's not my type, doesn't mean I can't see she's gorgeous. My vision hasn't been affected you know, Brendan."

Steven's doing that thing again. Pouting.

"Alright, alright! Jesus." He holds his hands up in defense.

"Anyway, she's a really nice girl. A proper friend."

"I've know her longer than you, Steven. She's been Cheryl's best friend since they were in nappies."

Steven moves in front of him, stopping him from walking. Brendan knows he could push him aside easily, but part of him wants to hear what the boy has to say.

"She likes you, you know. I can tell, from the way she talks about you. In a more than just a friend way."

"Well, now her wishes have come true," Brendan says, his voice light.

Steven shakes his head, those eyebrows of his creasing together.

"You better not be messing her about. She doesn't deserve that."

He's getting annoyed now. He's not about to let Steven tell him what to do.

"Get out of my way, won't you? I need to go back home."

"Oh yeah? You sure about that? I would have thought you'd do anything to stay away from the place."

Brendan stills at his words, at the implication behind them. "What are you talking about?"

"I know what your dad does to you, Brendan." It comes out in one angry burst, a jumble of words which floats in the air between them.

Brendan laughs it off, laughs till there's nothing that could possibly be that funny, till Steven gets that look on his face, a look full of pity that rips at Brendan's insides. Anything but that.

He knows this isn't going to go away with a brush off, so Brendan gets right up in his face, shoves him against the railings and all but bashes their foreheads together.

"You don't know anything. You're just some fag friend of Cheryl's. Stop sticking your nose into my business."

He expects the boy to cower against the force of him, to apologise and run. Yet another person who he's managed to push away.

"You going to beat me like he beats you, then?"

Brendan comes close to it, close to beating the shit out of him, to smashing his head against the railings, to making him into dust with his hands. He has no idea what stops him. He doesn't want to know.

"Brendan, _I know. _You forget, I've been there. I am there, exactly there. I'm not going to accept all those shitty excuses like everyone else does, that you walked into a door or fell on the pavement. Your dad hits you, just like my step dad does."

Brendan moves away from him, away from his words. No one has ever said this to him before. It has been something unspoken between him and Peter over the years. Brendan knows his best friend's not an fool, that he must know exactly what's going on. But it's one of the things Brendan has always respected in him. He doesn't push it, has never tried to pick at that scab, start the bleeding all over again.

Steven is not just picking at it but rubbing salt into it, making it hurt all over again.

"Please stop," It's one of the only times he's begged for anything in his life.

"No one knows, do they?"

"Why are you doing this, Steven? You don't even know me. I've always been horrible to you." A rare moment of honesty.

Steven weighs him up, eyes trailing over Brendan's face, his own drawn and sad.

"Sometimes I think I know more about you then you do, Brendan."


	2. Chapter 2

Cheryl stays in her room all that evening. Brendan brings her dinner up, but all he gets is the door slammed in his face and the sound of sobbing when he tries to come in.

Word must have spread to Lynsey, because she calls three times, only for Seamus to lose his temper and tell her that he _"doesn't know what you've done, but my daughter doesn't want to speak to you."_

Brendan admires her resilience when she tries for a fourth time. He makes sure he picks up the phone before Seamus does.

"Sorry Lyns, she's still holed up in her room."

"Can you tell her how sorry I am, please? She's not answering her phone."

"I don't think anything I say is going to make any difference right now," he says honestly. "You know how stubborn she can be."

Lynsey sighs. "I had no idea Malachy even liked me before today. I would never...not after knowing how much Cheryl likes him."

"I know. You're not like that."

"I hope...I hope this isn't going to cause problems between you and him, Brendan," she says quietly.

It's then that he remembers. Their date.

"The wider the gap between me and Malachy the better, trust me."

She laughs, sounding animated for the first time.

"We're still on for tomorrow, aren't we?" She asks tentatively.

Brendan swallows. "Of course."

He still hasn't got a clue where to take her, what she'd like. He knows Lynsey the friend. He knows her exact food order at McDonalds, that she's a sucker for Jane Austen and the classics. But Lynsey the date, the girlfriend? He hasn't got the first idea.

"I was thinking maybe you could come round to my house."

Brendan presses the phone closer to his ear, wondering if he's misheard her.

"Your house?"

"Yes. I mean we always go to the beach. My parents are out, and it might be nice to get some privacy."

_Privacy_. Oh fuck.

He tries to think what Peter would do, what he'd say.

"Sure. Your house sounds great."

"So I'll see you after school?"

"Okay, bye."

After Brendan hangs up he stays by the phone, not knowing what to do. He feels suddenly like his body's humming, his heart racing, the thump of it all he can hear.

He has to tell someone about this. Needs to share it so that it doesn't consume him, so that someone else can look at him and say _you did it, you're going to have sex with Lynsey Nolan tomorrow. _

"I'm going to Peter's. I'll be back in half an hour," he shouts, and hears the grunt of his father's reply, shutting the door behind him before he can hear the usual complaint, _you spend too much time with that boy._

Peter lives a few doors down from Brendan, and his family is so used to having him round that he barely needs to say hello to them anymore, he's so much a part of the furniture.

Waving quickly to Peter's parents in the living room, he runs up the stairs and knocks on Peter's door.

"Come in."

Brendan finds him sprawled out on his bed, completing the homework that he was doing earlier.

"You're still doing that? You swot."

Peter hits him with his textbook while Brendan sits beside him on the bed. He doesn't have to keep his distance anymore, there's nothing wrong with this. He has a _girlfriend_ now.

"How's Cheryl?"

"Still crying. At least she knows what Malachy's really like now though."

"He's not that bad, Bren. He's a good mate."

Brendan raises his eyes to the ceiling, asking God why he chose Peter to have such faith in people.

"He's pissed off with you. It's going to be a nightmare at school now."

"You think I care?"

Peter plays with the hem of his bed sheet. "Why...why did you do it, Bren?"

"Do what?"

He's silent for a moment. He can't seem to look Brendan in the eye. "Ask Lynsey out," he says finally.

Brendan feels his throat constrict. "Why not? And that's what I came to talk to you about."

Peter stares at him curiously.

"Me and Lynsey are meeting up tomorrow. She told me her parents are out, so it's just going to be me and her at her house."

Brendan looks at Peter in anticipation, waiting for the news to sink in, for Peter's expression to change to a type of awe.

Instead he watches as his face clouds over, his complexion growing paler.

"Just me and her. Alone," Brendan reiterates, as if Peter has misunderstood.

He sits up on the bed, his homework all but forgotten.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Brendan feels like he's missed a step. He's asked out one of the prettiest girls in the whole school, and she's said yes. Not only that, but she's all but given him a free pass into her bedroom.

"Of course. I don't understand why you're not happy for me." He's starting to feel angry now.

"I think you know why, Brendan."

Brendan rises from the bed, feeling as if blood is rushing around his body at an alarming pace. He feels hot with irritation, can't comprehend why Peter is doing this, why he's not letting him have this moment.

"You always have to fucking spoil everything, don't you?" He says between gritted teeth.

Peter stands up and faces him. "Lynsey's a nice girl." There's a spark of anger in his voice now too.

"Yeah, exactly. So why don't you want me to be with her?"

"You know why."

Brendan knows he should leave it alone, that he should run down those stairs now and back to his own house, which is actually feeling pretty damn safe in comparison right now.

But he has never been able to leave it. _Leave it_ is not in his vocabulary, but pushing something to breaking point is.

"No, come on. You seem to be dying to say something, so say it. Why shouldn't I be with Lynsey? Are you jealous, is that it? Because someone like her chose me instead of you?"

Peter looks behind Brendan's shoulder, checking that the door is completely closed.

"You can't like someone like her, Brendan. A...a girl," he says in a hushed whisper.

Brendan has the strong desire to have his fist connect with Peter's face, reckons he would do it if his parents weren't just downstairs.

"I told you -"

"Yeah, whatever," Peter dismisses with a wave of his hand. "You told me that what happened between us was a mistake, that you were drunk and out of your mind to try and kiss me. That you were attracted to girls, not guys. You know what, Brendan? I think that's fucking bullshit. You're gay, and me and you both know it."

Brendan stares at him, eyes wide, trying to contain an all over body shiver. He feels suddenly freezing, naked and vulnerable, completely stripped bare.

He takes a backward step.

"Brendan," Peter looks like he's begging now, his tone softer. "Why won't you realise that I don't give a shit what you are? I don't care that you're gay. But I do care that you're taking advantage of Lynsey. She doesn't deserve that."

Brendan shakes his head, rejecting this, all of this.

"I'm not gay," is all he can get out, and it sounds like he's drowning.

Peter looks at him full of pity, and he hates it. He hates that he is someone for people to feel sorry for.

"I'm not gay," Brendan repeats, trying to conjure up strength from somewhere.

He needs to have the last word on this, to walk away feeling like he's still in control. He backs out of the room before Peter can speak, and runs down the stairs so fast he almost falls.

He knows what he has to do now. It's all mapped out for him, as clear as anythings ever been.

He already has a condom, has done for months now, if only to spread the message loud and clear, _I'm normal, I do what everyone else does. _

The next day at school he thinks about Lynsey, and stares at the clock, counting down the hours until he meets her after school, and they head back to her place. He concentrates on how she smiles, the way nothing is artificial or fake about it, how she smiles with her eyes as well as her mouth, not like the way some girls do. He thinks about her body, how delicate it looks, how pliable. When he closes his eyes and thinks about sex with Steven, he imagines bites and bruises covering his body from where his hands have dug into the boy's flesh. He can't do that with Lynsey. She needs protecting, nothing but gentle caresses and soft kisses.

He won't think about the boy anymore. The last time he'd seen Steven had been when he'd left him at the beach, tiring of the way he had spoke to him like he knew him. The little git honestly thought that he could pass judgement on Brendan's life.

"_Sometimes I think I know more about you then you do, Brendan."_

No one knew him more than he knew himself. Not Peter, not his father, and definitely not some little queer prostitute.

When he meets Lynsey after school, he doesn't miss the daggers that Malachy's sending his way. He slings an arm around her, making sure that Malachy sees him smiling. If he's going to do this, then he may as well make the most of it.

Their conversation on the way home is as free as it always is. They talk about Cheryl and how she's barely said two words to her that day.

"It'll be okay. You know what Cheryl's like. She'll be talking to you again in no time."

Lynsey smiles at him, full of trust, like his words alone have reassured him. He's wonders how far the girl would go for him, how high she'd jump if he asked. It usually thrills him, having that kind of power with a person. But now it feels strangely unsettling.

The atmosphere changes when they reach Lynsey's house. He's been over plenty of times, had spent most of his childhood in this house, watching her and Cheryl play with their dolls while he connected lego pieces, loving how there was an order to the whole thing, a sequence, a series of connecting figures. It made sense back then.

But without Cheryl as a buffer, he suddenly doesn't know what to say. Lynsey looks at him full of expectation, like she's planning on him saying something, doing something, like she believes he has clever words, when he is stumbling over them in his head.

She offers him a drink, and gets some beer from her parents liquor cabinet. It's barely enough to even get him lightheaded, but they sit on the sofa like they're grown ups, Brendan slugging it back, Lynsey taking little sips.

She's wearing more make up than usual today, and it highlights the colour of her eyes. They look as large and as pleading as a puppies, staring at him as if begging for something that he doesn't know how to give. He looks down at her breasts, then sees her see him looking. This is what he's meant to do, isn't it? He waits to feel something, to want to touch them, to want to see more, what's underneath, but nothing comes, and he could scream at himself.

Maybe he needs to ease himself into this slowly. He concentrates on her skin instead, how clear it is, how soft it looks. But not as soft as Steven's. He doesn't think it's possible for someones skin to look as soft and smooth as the boy's. At the beach it had consumed his mind, wondering what it would be like to reach out as Steven sat beside him, and run a single finger down his cheek.

"Are you okay, Brendan?"

Lynsey's words are enough to shake him out of his reverie. He's worried he's exposed himself somehow, that everyone will see every dark, shameful thought he's thinking.

Brendan moves closer to Lynsey on the sofa, and doesn't know whether he's relieved or afraid when she doesn't draw away. She just continues to look him in the eyes, no hesitance there.

"I'm with you, so I'm okay." It's a cheesy line, isn't it? The kind of things that he thinks every girl wants to hear. That's what Malachy seems to think, that you just feed someone a bunch of romantic words and they'll be all yours.

It seems to work, because Lynsey smiles wider, and looks up from under her lashes as she sips more beer. Still not as long as Steven's lashes, though.

He's tempted to ask for more beer, but he can't be drunk during this, can't let Lynsey spread tales that he was. He can imagine Peter's face when it gets back to him. _Brendan Brady had to be off his face to sleep with a girl. _He needs to show him that he's wrong, about everything. He's doing this because he wants to.

Brendan puts down his drink, and he could swear his hands are shaking. He thought it wouldn't get to him, that it wouldn't make him nervous, but suddenly he's here, and this is his reality. No one's going to come through the door and interrupt, and Lynsey isn't going to pull him off her.

She's ready for it, she knows what's coming, and she follows him and puts down her drink. She has that same look on her face now, the waiting, the expectation, and her lips are there.

They are soft, softer than some of the other girls he has kissed. She seems to gravitate towards him, moulding her body around his, her hand in his hair, pulling him closer to her. He's surprised by the level of trust that she's showing him, the way she's holding nothing back. He does that thing he's seen guys do, putting his hand against her cheek, smoothing down the skin there like they're in some kind of fucking rom-com, and the hero's just got his girl.

But he doesn't feel like this is his happy ending, and he's dying inside, feels like he's on fire, not from her, but from what she's not giving him, what she's not producing in him, even though he was so sure that she would.

He had imagined wanting to tear her clothes off, to forget about every feeling, every thought that he'd ever had about Peter or Steven, and every guy in between. To fuck them into oblivion.

But he handles Lynsey like a delicate doll, his hands never trailing below her face, while his mind is alight with visions of other faces, other lips, other hands, of one person he wishes he knew how to not know.

"Brendan...do you want to..." she breathes. Every impulse in his body is saying no. But it's as though his voice has stopped working.

It's Lynsey that begins to undress him, because right that second he can't do a damn thing. His own body looks foreign to him, alien when he sees his bare chest revealed. The hands which he imagined touching him are different, not the firm, large ones which he pictured around his cock, expertly stroking, bringing him a pleasure so acute that his knees would buckle.

These hands are small and unmistakably feminine, and even when Brendan closes his eyes, he can't lose the sight of the fact that it is Lynsey who's pawing at his naked skin, unbuckling his trousers now.

He feels like he might start having a panic attack, can already hear the things that'll be spread round school. _Brendan couldn't get it up. He must be queer. _

He knows that if he shuts his eyes hard enough and concentrates on imagining, then he could think that it's Steven's mouth around him. God, even if Brendan has to...go down there...then he can keep the boy's face in his mind.

As Lynsey's mouth captures his again while she straddles his lap, he starts to think about what happens afterwards. Lynsey will want to lie in his arms, and that might be nice, not being alone, having a warm body to hold. But what about after that - tomorrow, and the next day? They'll be a couple now, unless he wants to leave her in the same state that Cheryl's in, thinking that she's been discarded and is unwanted.

"Lynsey, Lyns -"

But she is kissing him fiercely, wanting him with the same passion and intensity that he wants Steven, and it's too much.

Brendan moves her off him without hurting her, and stands up from the sofa, quickly putting his t-shirt back over his head. She stares at him innocently, as if thinking that this is all some mistake, and he'll come back and join her, and they'll start again.

He hates that he's done this, to her of all people. He should have stopped himself, should have seen that he was taking advantage of his own friend, his surrogate sister. It was okay before when he was just hurting himself, when the thoughts were filling up the torturous prison of his own mind, but now he's inflicted them onto someone else, someone who deserves better than he can give.

"I'm sorry," he says, and has a feeling that he'll be using those two words a lot in his life, and still hasn't worked out exactly what they mean.

He moves before she can properly respond, grabbing his rucksack and heading out of the door. It's still light outside, and he wishes that the darkness was there to envelop and camouflage him.

That's two friends that he's deserted in the space of two days. Two of the only people he's ever found some kind of peace with, and he's ruined it, tarnished it until there's no way back. Now Peter's thinks he's gay, and Lynsey's not too far behind. Everything Seamus has always said about him is being proven right.

He doesn't want to go home, can't go back there and hear Cheryl talking about Malachy and 'Lynsey's big betrayal' anymore. God knows he loves her, but sometimes he wants to yell at her to appreciate this, all of this pointless little drama, because she doesn't know what it's like to be on the other side, when what you want isn't so normal. When you face a lifetime of rejection.

All Brendan wants to do now is get lost, drive somewhere and never come back. Go somewhere where no one knows his name, where he can walk the streets and it feels like the world is opening up to him, rather than every door closing in his face.

He just wants to feel something, _anything_. Wants to stop this numbness, wants to dilute the pain that's ripping through him. He wants passion, excitement, is willing to jump from the furthest height or swim with fucking sharks to get it.

He wonders how on earth someone like Steven can have a light about him. The boy wears his life and his wounds like battle scars, every bruise a reminder of what his step dad does to him. But the kid doesn't let it show, or at least he doesn't let it become all he is. There is a playfulness to him, a joy that Brendan can't comprehend.

That anger that was there the other day on the beach. _That _was Brendan feeling something. He wants that back.

He knows where he'll be. If the rumours are true then he even knows the exact spot that he'll find him at on the pier. People say that he sits in a quiet closed off corner so he can drink without being picked up by the police.

When Brendan finds him he's sitting down, scruffy trainers propped up against the railing. He had expected to see Steven joined by these druggie friends he's heard so much about from the school's gossip mill, but he's glad to find him alone.

Steven barely reacts when he notices Brendan standing beside him. It annoys him. When he walks into a room he commands it, and the boy isn't even batting an eye.

Brendan coughs, trying to get Steven to just _do something, _but he merely continues smoking.

"Doesn't your breath smell foul from that?" Brendan asks, not ready to be amicable just yet, not after yesterday.

He already knows the answer to his question. Somehow Steven's breath smells just right. Brendan can smell the smoke on him, but it's not like when his father smokes. It's not like that at all.

Steven has the cheek to scoff at him.

"What?" Brendan says angrily.

"You've got some nerve, saying something like that."

Brendan doesn't sit down. He wants his position over the boy to intimate him, to let him know who's boss here.

"I know about what you do for your extracurricular activities, Brendan."

That wasn't what he was expecting. No one knows that. No one but Malachy, but Brendan's worked hard to pretend that it's all a delusion in that stupid head of his, like Brendan's the wronged one.

Now this boy is speaking it aloud without a hint of fear.

"What?"

Steven stares up at him. He looks tired. Tired of him.

"You're a drug dealer."

It sounds strange for someone to say it like that. Malachy said it like he was accusing Brendan of being a mass murderer, but Steven says it without an ounce of emotion, but like it's cold, hard fact. Which he can't deny it is. And he finds he doesn't want to deny it, senses that he doesn't have to. Not here, not with his boy.

"How did you find out?"

"You sold to a friend of mine, who then sold to me."

"Six degrees of separation."

"More like two, but yes, basically."

Brendan glances down at him. "You going to tell anyone?"

"No," Steven replies immediately. "What would be the point? I don't care."

Brendan frowns at that, then settles down onto his feet beside him.

"What do you mean, you don't care?"

Steven shrugs. "It doesn't make much difference to me. So you're a drug dealer. It's not like you're Al Capone. You just do it to make some money on the side, right?"

"Yeah..." Brendan begins uneasily, not sure where this is headed.

"I've heard of worse. And it's not your fault if someone's willing to buy."

Brendan had all but braced himself for a lecture. This is the last thing he expected. He knows Steven is hardly squeaky clean himself, but he thought he'd argue back, accuse him of putting Cheryl in danger.

He finds himself resting more comfortably next to Steven now, watching while he brings another cigarette out of his pack.

"Want one?"

"No thanks. I don't really smoke."

Steven laughs lightly. "A drug dealer who doesn't smoke."

"Like you said, it's just a way to make money."

"Isn't today meant to be your date with Lynsey?

Brendan's surprised by the abrupt change in subject.

"How...how did you know?"

"Cheryl mentioned it. Said that you were betraying her too, going out with Lynsey after what she's done." Steven rolls his eyes. "I love her, but she's so bloody dramatic sometimes."

_I love her._ The words sting more than they should.

"Yeah...I went over there. To her house."

Steven stares at him. "Already? That was the fastest date in the history of the world."

Brendan feels suddenly defensive. "How would you know? Have you ever gone on one?"

_You probably just give it away for free. I doubt you're a flowers and chocolates kind of person._

He can't even imagine what...what gay people do. Do they even go on dates, and hold hands? Brendan's never seen it before, not in this town.

Steven's eyes turn dark, and he has his bottom lip between his teeth. Brendan wishes he wouldn't do that, wishes he would see how distracting it is.

"All of the guys round here are idiots, Brendan. Too scared of what everyone else will think."

He knows he doesn't imagine the look Steven gives him.

"Yeah, well maybe you should just give up. Go with a girl or something."

Steven looks at him like he's just sprouted an extra head.

"I'm gay," he says, as if Brendan is a particularly dense child.

"Yeah, but I mean...come on, it's not natural. What do you...gay people even do?"

Steven laughs at him then, high and manic, and furious. "Don't do that, Brendan. Don't pretend that you don't know."

Brendan trains his face to be horrified. He has to get the message across loud and clear. He's not like him.

"What? I really can't imagine it. I don't want to imagine it." He shudders for good effect.

But Steven doesn't back down. The boy's smarter than he gave him credit for.

"You're a fucking liar." He keeps his voice down, but Brendan looks around him nonetheless, checking for any prying ears.

"You know exactly what gay people do, Brendan," he continues, voice burning. "In fact I bet you've thought about it enough times. Probably woken up with stained sheets thinking about it, haven't you?"

Brendan needs to keep calm here, needs to show the little bastard that he's wrong, and make him pay for his thoughtless remarks. But Steven doesn't let him speak, just keeps on talking frantically, like he's been waiting a lifetime to get this out.

"I've always known, Brendan. Ever since I moved here and met you. I see the way you look at me, the way you act around me. Pretending you're disgusted and want nothing to do with me. It's a lot easier to be like that, isn't it? A hell of a lot easier than admitting the truth. But you know exactly what people like me do. We suck other guys cocks Brendan, and we take it up the arse, and we love it. Is that what you wanted me to tell you? Because I reckon you knew it all already."

Brendan is rendered speechless, couldn't even argue or fight back if he tried. His head is banging and there is a pain behind his eyes with the pressure of Steven's words, and the way he's looking at him. The boy is fearless, has just opened his mouth and said what no one ever has, not even Peter, not even close.

There is courage in his eyes, and bravery. His expression is unguarded, and Brendan can tell that he's saying that he'll be hit, he'll be punished, he'll take the blame, but he's not taking a single word back.

And there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.

But he knows what he wants to do. It's been gnawing under Brendan's flesh for years now, tearing into him and being his constant companion. He doesn't want to ignore it anymore. He wants to feed it and let it grow.

"Can we go somewhere?"

Steven almost swallows his cigarette. "You what?" He barks out, as eloquent as ever.

"Just you and me. Please," Brendan says, low and deep.

For a horrible minute Brendan thinks Steven will turn him down and he'll be alone again. But after a moment he nods gently, and picks up his beer bottle from the pier.

"Come on, lets go to the beach."

Brendan hesitates, knowing that the lads will most likely be there, and Steven seems to read his mind.

"Don't worry, it's a quiet spot. No one will bother us there."

Brendan can't help but wonder if this is where Steven takes all his conquests, but he tries to shake the thought from his mind.

Steven's right, it's practically deserted where he takes him, the water dark and dirty down here, away from the swimmers and surfers.

Brendan's grateful for the solitude, feeling like he can finally breathe again.

Steven reaches out and offers him his beer, and when Brendan swallows it down he thinks how the boy's lips have been on it, then feels mildly ridiculous for caring about such a thing.

He doesn't want to make small talk, doesn't want to mess around now that everything's out in the open. It is a strange kind of relief for Steven to have had said what he did. Finally Brendan can stop pretending.

When he hands the bottle back to him their hands touch, and Brendan feels how warm he is. He wants more, _needs_ more, and suddenly his dreams aren't his dreams anymore. He is reaching out and touching Steven's cheek, and it is better than in his imagination, softer. His skin is like silk, and when Brendan rubs a finger over his lip the roughness contrasts wonderfully, making him ache.

Steven stares back at him, seeming both surprised and like he's been waiting for this his whole life. Brendan needs him to want this too, can't let it be like with Lynsey, where one body is cold, unresponsive.

Steven takes him aback by the strength of him in his arms when he comes forward to kiss him. Brendan nearly falls backwards from the shock of it, of kissing someone, of kissing _properly_ for the first time. He has never experienced anything like it, the way Steven's lips move ferociously against his own, its own kind of private dance.

Brendan doesn't have to think where to place his hands. They immediately go straight to Steven's hair, and it is soft, so very soft as he strokes it. He pushes him back further onto the wall so they're confined to their own little corner, and it feels like they've been cast adrift in this world, the only surviving people on this earth, and Brendan has never felt more wanted, more surrounded by the warmth and life of another person. This is what it's like to be alive.

Steven is moaning into his mouth, an unspoken plea for more, and Brendan wants to tell him that he doesn't have to ask for anything anymore, that he'll give him anything he wants without a flicker of doubt or hesitancy.

Brendan has never done this with a man before, has never tasted someone's cock on the tip of his tongue, but he knows how this works. He's watched it on his computer with headphones in the dead of the night when everyone's asleep, typed 'porn' into the search engine and waits for it to load with thousands of videos of men, men far more muscular and older and experienced than him. But watching is not the same. It's not enough to dissipate the craving that's been brewing in him for as long as he can remember.

Steven threads his hands through Brendan's hair as he kneels down on the sand and begins to unbuckle his jeans. He doesn't stop him, doesn't seem to even consider stopping, and it's overwhelming, this feeling that Steven's been feeling this way about him all this time too.

Brendan can hear the roaring of the ocean behind him, but it's not as loud as the sound of his own heart pounding mercilessly in his chest. He feels full of adrenaline. Is this what it's like to be on drugs? To feel like you're floating above the ground, and there isn't going to be a fall.

He feels invincible. Powerful.

He pulls Steven's jeans down until they're bundled around his ankles, then looks at his underwear. They're not the nicest Brendan's ever seen, with a stripy pattern that reminds him of something that a ten year old would wear, but that's not what's important to him anyway.

Brendan moves closer and nuzzles against Steven's cock beneath the material. It's not completely hard yet, but with a few firm licks he feels Steven's legs buck ever so slightly, and Brendan knows he's getting there. But soon it's not enough. He can feel its thickness through Steven's boxers, and longs to put his lips around it, to feel it sliding down his throat.

He roughly pulls his boxers down and feels himself grow hard when he's inches away from Steven's now semi erect cock. It's not as big as some of the guys he's seen in the videos, but there's something perfect about it, something he wants to explore. When he stares up at Steven and sees the pure lust in his eyes, any worries he might have had are silenced. Steven wants it, badly, and Brendan's going to give it to him.

He may have never done this before, but he knows how wide he'll have to open his mouth. He stretches it as if he's yawning, and then places it around just the head of Steven's cock at first, getting familiar with the taste of it, the pre cum in his mouth.

Steven is already whimpering above him, pushing his hips out ever so slightly.

"More of it, Brendan," he pleads, his voice laced with raw, carnal desire.

Brendan opens his mouth up, takes more of his cock into his throat, wraps himself more securely around it, giving darting swirls of his tongue. Fuck, he tastes good.

It doesn't even cross Brendan's mind that they're doing this in broad daylight on a beach, a secluded beach admittedly. He trusts Steven, knows that the boy knows how essential it is that this is kept between the two of them. All he can concentrate on right now is making Steven come. It's strange, this feeling of needing to give someone else pleasure, of wanting Steven to enjoy it. Like he...like he cares about him.

It's a challenge almost, working out how much of Steven he can take into his mouth. The boy's sounds and movements are affirming, making Brendan want to go further and tip him over the edge. At first he combines his hands and his mouth, bobbing back and forward on Steven's cock while his hand strokes the rest. Steven pants and writhes, but Brendan needs more, wants to hear him trying to keep in his screams.

He removes his hand, and instead takes an intake of breath, and then opens his mouth as wide as possible. Steven's cock slides down his throat, and Brendan takes him all the way down to the root in one clean, steady motion.

"Fucking hell."

Brendan has to hold Steven's arse firmly in his hands to stop him from falling.

The boy becomes an indecipherable mess of twitchy body movements and groans, and he bites on his lip hard to keep from shouting his pleasure to the whole world.

Brendan's own cock is straining in his jeans painfully. The sight of Steven's ecstasy is enough to make him want to jerk himself off. He's too desirable for his own good, too beautiful. Even now Brendan can't imagine ever having had his fill of him. There is no such thing as too much with this boy.

Brendan uses a hand to rub over his own groin, and even fully clothed it still feels indescribably good, a temporary form of release while he's dealing with Steven's own. He takes a moment to breath, and Steven stares at him like he's looking at the face of God.

He notices where Brendan's hand is, and says easily "I'll do that for you after." Just like that.

Brendan hears himself make a growling sound, and is shocked at the strength of his own desire, of what getting what he wants is doing to him.

He grabs Steven quickly by his arse cheeks and brings him closer towards him. The boy lets out a surprised little yelp, but starts making a whole set of other sounds when Brendan once again takes him down to the root. He is getting used to this, could do it all fucking day if he had to, doesn't think he'll ever tire of pleasuring Steven like this.

He works on him until Steven's hips suddenly jerk violently, and come fills Brendan's mouth. He always expected to find it disgusting, but it's somehow not, and he swallows it down on instinct, wiping his mouth with his hand and licking that too.

Brendan gives Steven's spent cock one last kiss in a rare moment of romanticism, then rises to his feet.

Steven looks at him cautiously through glazed eyes for a moment, then suddenly breaks out into laughter, and it fills that empty place inside of Brendan, until it almost feels like he's whole.

He can't help but laugh along with him. It is easy, comforting. Like they share a secret now.

"Are you telling me that was your first time giving someone a blow job?"

"Swear on my life," Brendan says, unable to resist grinning cockily.

"That was...amazing," Steven says, and the way he looks at him makes Brendan feel like he's staring into a bright, blinding light.

Steven leans forward to kiss him, not seeming to care that Brendan still can taste his come in his mouth. Steven's lips are warm and inviting, and they brush their tongues against each other, coming home.

When they draw back, Steven's hands travel to Brendan's trousers.

"What are you -"

"I said I'd return the favour, didn't I? You didn't think I'd just leave it there, did you?" Steven asks, grinning.

The idea of Steven's mouth _there_ like he's always dreamed is enough to make Brendan's head spin.

"Okay, but wait." He can't believe he's interrupting, but theres some things that need sorting first.

Steven looks at him like he's crazy, like he's itching to get his hands on him.

"I just...I haven't got any money on me, just so you know."

Steven blinks, confused.

"I mean I can pay you tomorrow at school," Brendan continues, feeling awkward, not knowing how he can word this without sounding like an idiot. Steven isn't making it any easier on him.

"What are you going on about?" His hands aren't on his trousers anymore.

"The money. For...this," he finishes lamely.

Suddenly comprehension dawns on Steven's face, and the light goes out.

"Do you...do you think I'm some kind of prostitute or something?"

Brendan's words are stuck in his throat, but the boy is looking at him furiously, demanding answers.

"Uh...yeah...I mean...you are, aren't you?"

The noise Steven makes could be a laugh or a cry. Brendan's not entirely sure.

"You think I'm a prostitute?" He repeats again, louder this time.

"Everyone says -"

"Yeah, and everyone says that you're a psycho who's going to grow up to be a murderer one day! But I don't listen to them, do I? Because I know you're not that guy, Brendan. I've never thought that for a second."

Brendan feels panic rising in his throat, that he's about to lose something here, something he hadn't been entirely sure he wanted, but that now feels precious, fragile.

"When you asked me if we could go somewhere, I thought you meant it because you liked me, because you wanted to be with me. I don't - Jesus Brendan, I don't fuck people for money!"

"Steven -"

'No. No, you know what? Don't bother. I thought you were...well, I thought you were someone else entirely."

He hurriedly picks up his rucksack and marches from the beach, Brendan's protestations dying on his lips. Soon Steven is gone, and he's alone again.


	3. Chapter 3

_This is the last chapter. Thanks so much for reading and all your lovely reviews, they mean a lot. I hope you've enjoyed this story._

* * *

Is this what it's like to be in love? Not being able to sleep, food churning around in your stomach, the person's face and smile and voice the only thing here in the darkness.

Brendan didn't know it could be this painful, that it would be something he'd gladly get rid of. He'd rip his heart out if he could.

He can still taste Steven's lips on him, how they moulded against his own in perfect harmony. He remembers the way he looked when he came, his face slackened in pleasure, like he was in a beautiful place, and Brendan was right there with him, along for the ride.

When he had been left alone on the beach he had stared out at its murky waters, and the thought had come to him then, fleeting but undeniably present. _What's the point of it all?_

He had imagined slipping underneath the waves, letting go of the fight, and falling into a deep sleep. Peace at last.

Then he had pictured Cheryl's face, and what he'd be leaving her alone with. Seamus having more of a hold over her, until all the goodness that was at the core of her was washed away like the current that Brendan wanted to take hold of him.

His legs were dead weights as he'd walked home. He'd trundled up the stairs, closing his door behind him, not listening to his mum's calls for supper. He wanted to hurt someone, wanted to transfer some of the pain and anger he felt onto someone else. But there was no one there.

He had gripped his hand into a fist, and with his other he dug his nails into his flesh. It was only enough to create little half moon marks at first, but his grip grew harder, and he began to tear at the skin, blood trickling down his knuckles. It stung, but it was a strange kind of relief, concentrating on this rather than what he was feeling. He thought about Seamus, picturing every insult and punch that had ever been inflicted on him, and soon there was a sea of red on his hands, and he had to rise to wrap tissue paper around it.

He spends the evening underneath his bed covers, shutting out any light by drawing them around him, like when he was younger and used to create dens with Peter. He remembers feeling like they were in their own world back then, that nothing could touch them while they were together. It felt wonderfully secure.

Brendan hears Steven's words echo in his head.

_Everyone says that you're a psycho who's going to grow up to be a murderer one day. But I don't listen to them, do I? __Because I know you're not that guy. I've never thought that for a second._

Brendan knows that's what people think of him. He's built a reputation around it. He's Brendan Brady. People fear him, know what he's been capable of in the past. No one crosses him if they don't want to get their face bruised and cut up. That _is_ his future. Intimidation. Violence. He hates it, hates that he's just a watered down version of his father, but how the hell does he escape something like that? It's who he is.

But there was Steven, the most desirable thing he'd ever seen in his life, standing in front of him and telling him that he wasn't that person. He had been angry, furious, trying to prove a point, but he'd still made Brendan feel like someone believed in him somehow. Or they once had, anyway.

But it couldn't have just been anyone, Brendan realises. It wouldn't mean a damn thing coming from someone like Malachy. It was the fact that it had been the boy who'd said it. Brendan cares what he thinks, wants his approval so badly that the sight of Steven walking away from him had left him hollow, empty.

Brendan had badly misjudged him. He'd let stupid gossip sway him, making up his mind for him before he'd realised what was right in front of him. He'd thought someone like Steven would laugh at him, that he wouldn't understand how hard Brendan found all this, to want what he wanted. When he'd taken him down to the beach it had been easier thinking that Steven was just doing it for the money. It had put distance between them, had made it into some kind of twisted business exchange rather than what it was - Brendan wanting to have sex with him because of who he was, not because he could fulfill some perverted need in him.

Now he's humiliated them both, and wouldn't blame Steven if he hated him.

It's the payback that terrifies him though. An eye for an eye. He's scared that if he comes out from underneath the duvet then he'll have to face a world that's changed entirely, where everyone knows _what_ he is, after the boy has revealed all about their encounter.

He must finally fall asleep, because suddenly Cheryl's shaking him awake, telling him that they're going to be late for school.

Brendan mumbles his excuses. _I'm not feeling well. My stomach's hurting, _but he hears Seamus charging up the stairs, telling him that as he didn't get a looker for a son, then he's at the very least going to make him finish his exams so he has some kind of chance.

Brendan begins to get dressed, knows that anything would be better than staying here and listening to this.

When he approaches the gates he half expects the entire school to come out and start chortling at him, whispering behind his back, spray painting queer on his rucksack.

Cheryl looks at him. "Why have you stopped?"

He hadn't realised he had, hadn't noticed that he's standing stock still on the pavement before the entrance.

"Come on, Bren! I hate it when I'm late. Everyone in class always turns to stare at me, and I know what they're thinking. Sizing me up, looking at my thighs -"

"God, give it a rest won't you?"

She stares at him, taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"There are more important things in the world than you attacking yourself and imagining that everyone is laughing at you. Guess what? They're not. What would they have to laugh about? You're the normal one."

Brendan walks into school and waits for her to call him back, to ask him to explain himself. He doesn't know if he's relieved or disappointed when Cheryl doesn't make a sound.

He doesn't bother apologising to his teacher for his lateness, doesn't fucking care that_ it's barely been a week back and you're already sticking to bad habits. T_he threat of detention is laughable. He'd rather be at this dump than his own home if that's the choice.

Brendan automatically glances at the spot that's usually reserved for him next to Peter. Malachy is sitting in Peter's seat instead now, his bag placed where Brendan would usually be. He glances at Peter, wants to see if he'll look him in the eye, or if this is it now, and they're strangers.

Peter's eyes flicker towards him briefly, then back again. He doesn't look triumphant like Malachy does, and that's a small blessing, but he has that same look in his eyes that he got after Brendan had tried to kiss him. Guilt. Shame. Embarrassment.

Brendan sits resolutely away from them, hiding his cut up hand under his sleeve.

No one seems to be staring at him, or talking about him, but he half believes it's some kind of trick, and any moment now they're going to jump and yell _surprise_, that they know everything he is, everything he's done, everything he's _wanted_ to do.

He can't lie down on the benches with his mates like usual, can't pretend that he's king at this school when he had his mouth wrapped around another guy's cock last night.

He needs to speak to Lynsey, to offer her some kind of explanation for all this. To make sure that she hasn't already told all the girls in her year what happened.

He finds her with Francis at lunch, has noticed that they've started hanging out more now that Cheryl's abandoned her. The battle lines have been drawn in their petty teenage saga. Lynsey and Francis vs. Cheryl and Steven. Brendan wants to smash their heads together and tell them all to stop being such idiots, that if they're going to fall out over a boy, at least make it a good one.

He notices Francis eyeing him warily, still on edge around him. Brendan doesn't want trouble, not right now.

He clears his throat. "Hi Lynsey."

He can tell immediately that she's been crying. She's tried to hide it with some mascara and eye shadow, but her eyes are red and puffy. He hates the thought that she's wasted a single tear over him.

"Hi," she replies, with more kindness than he deserves.

He nods over his shoulder, motioning for her to join him. She looks between him and Francis.

"One minute," she promises, then follows Brendan.

He makes sure he moves far away from the benches so the lads won't be able to see. He used to want to parade girls in front of them like they were possessions that he owned, but now he doesn't want anyone to see this mess that masquerades as a life.

"What do you want, Brendan?"

How can he explain what happened yesterday? The truth will never be acceptable. She'll never understand. And yet part of him wishes he could tell her, has this feeling that she wouldn't hate him for it.

"I'm sorry, for running out like that..."

"It's okay. You don't have to give me the whole speech. Pete told me already."

Brendan feels distinctly sick.

"Peter...Peter told you?"

She nods. "I called him last night, thought you might be with him. He said he hadn't seen you, and then I told him what happened, and..."

He leans a hand against the wall, needs it to support his body suddenly.

"You told him?"

He realises now that a part of him had held onto the belief that Lynsey wouldn't hurt him like that. That she was his friend, that she wouldn't spread stories or try to get revenge.

He doesn't hit girls, but he almost wishes that he could break his own moral code.

"I just said it didn't seem like you...liked me." She seems to notice something in Brendan's expression, because she's speaking with concern now.

He dares to hope.

"That's...that's all you told him?"

"What else would I tell him?" She says, sounding genuinely confused.

And then he understands. Remembers. She's not like him. She's _good_.

"Nothing," he dismisses.

"Anyway, Pete told me what you'd told him..."

This is becoming like a game of chinese whispers that's impossible to understand, that's so far from where he started.

"About just...seeing me as a friend." She says it like she's punching the words out.

Brendan prides himself on always being one step of the game, of second guessing everyones actions and being the one who delivers the shocks.

Nothing is like it used to be.

"You should have just told me that. I'm not a little kid anymore, I can take it. We've known each other for ages Bren, long enough to be honest about that."

"I know," he stutters. He's just been offered a lifeline here, and the reality of that is not even close to sinking in.

"I just...I'm sorry. I thought I could do it. But I couldn't." Not a complete lie then.

"It's probably for the best anyway."

He hadn't expected her to take this so well. He'd braced himself for tears and for Lynsey to threaten to never speak to him again.

"What?"

"We would have just ended up ruining everything anyway. You know the cliche, don't mess with a friendship. And we have a good one, don't we?"

"The best one," he says without hesitation.

"Do me one favour though, Bren?"

"Anything." God knows he owes her.

"Have you heard about this party that Mal's having on Friday?"

"Unsurprisingly, no. I don't think I'm first on his invite list," Brendan says wryly.

"Well he invited me, and I thought I should go. It might help get things back to normal, after he...well..." she blushes. "After he asked me out."

"Oh Jesus...this favour doesn't include me coming too, does it?"

She gives him those wide puppy dog eyes again.

"Lyns, no! You do realise what will happen, right? We'll have torn each other to shreds before an hours even passed. And while that actually sounds pretty fun to me, I'm guessing it's not the kind of thing you're into."

She rolls her eyes at him, effortlessly going back to the role of slightly exasperated yet indulgent friend.

"Please! I really want Cheryl to go, and you're the only one who can convince her. Well, you and Malachy actually, but I'm not letting him give her false hope again."

"I see, so you're just using me now? I'm your bait?" The irony of this statement isn't entirely lost on him.

"Pretty much, yeah," she grins.

Brendan hates these parties that his mates have. Hates the intensity of it all, everyone gathered in one house, so close he can barely breathe. Hates the way that by the end of the night he's expected to have copped off with someone, to lead some drunk girl to one of the spare bedrooms, grinning at the lads like he's proud, like he's just passed some rite of passage.

He hates walking in on a couple when he's collecting his coat at the end of the night, and seeing them sprawled out on the bed, Peter and Malachy's eyes immediately traveling to the half naked girl, his own settling on the guy's chest, his dick straining against his boxers, the spit slicked lips.

The only way he can get through it is to get so drunk that he can barely stand, until it all drowns out, doesn't touch him anymore.

He's given up dealing drugs at the places after a boy in his year Kevin had got so wasted and spaced out on them that he'd grappled at Brendan's jeans, stroking him through the fabric, not even caring that people were dancing around them, their eyes beginning to settle on them, Brendan seeing the judgement there. He'd thrown Kevin off him, smashed him into the table with one punch, hissed into his ear that he's _disgusting, fucking disgusting_ and _don't come near me or I'll make sure that you never walk again. _

Peter had held him round the stomach to hold him back, and Brendan had felt how very warm he was, his arms solid. Malachy had yelled at him, _you just broke my parents table you prick, what's your problem Brady? _Once Cheryl had found out about it he'd heard no end of it for two weeks, her demanding that he apologise to Kevin, that she couldn't stand having a homophobe for a brother.

A part of Brendan had delighted in it. He was a homophobe, but he wasn't gay. That's all that mattered.

Even two years later Cheryl still hasn't forgotten about it.

"I don't really fancy going to a party where the night ends in you nearly putting another guy in hospital, Bren," she says when he tells her about it on Friday night. He thought he'd wait till the last minute to try and convince her, imagining the days of panic about what to wear and what she'd say to Malachy if he'd brought it up any sooner.

Although he's starting to wonder if perhaps he should have said something before she'd changed into her pink kangaroo pajamas and fluffy slippers.

"Chez how many parties have I been to since then, eh? Have you heard of that happening again?"

She crosses her arms stubbornly. "Maybe not, but..."

"I'll be on my best behaviour, I promise."

"Why do you want me to come to this thing anyway? Won't having your little sister there sort of be cramping your style?"

Having Cheryl there might actually be a welcome distraction. Looking out for her and concentrating on keeping some guy's lecherous paws off of her is preferable to watching the door every two minutes, seeing if _he's_ arrived. He doesn't even know why he bothers. Steven never comes to these things, but the possibility is enough for Brendan to wear his aftershave every time, his best clothes, to imagine what the boy would dance like. He imagines his gangly limbs moving awkwardly, but there being a kind of freedom to it, a joy in Steven not caring what anyone thinks.

"Lynsey wants you to be there."

"That bitch?" Cheryl mutters acidly.

Brendan will never understand the way girls minds work. Best friends one day, close to making voodoo dolls of the other the next.

"You don't mean that."

"I do. I hate her."

Brendan sits on the bed beside Cheryl, her slippers propped up on his lap.

"Chez, you're being crazy. Even for you. Lynsey did nothing wrong. You spend every waking moment with her. Has she ever done anything to encourage Malachy? No. Would she ever say yes to him knowing that you like him? No."

He can feel her softening, knows that it's only a matter of time. Cheryl's not like him, holding grudges her whole life. An eye for an eye doesn't apply to her.

"Do you really think she didn't know he liked her?" She asks softly.

"Lyns? You know her, she's oblivious about these things. A guy would probably have to get down on one knee before she knew he was interested."

Cheryl closes her eyes. "I just...I'll never match up to her, will I? She's prettier than me, smarter than me. Who would want me next to her?"

Brendan's mind wanders to Peter. How his feelings for him had crept up slowly, so gradually that it would almost be impossible for him to say when it started. How Peter had been kind to him, his house a refuge from Brendan's own. Peter had never believed Malachy's stories about him, had never once questioned him about the drugs, had looked Brendan in the eye and said _I know you wouldn't do that. _The mere possibility that Peter believed he was better than he was, that he _believed_ _in him _had overwhelmed him. He had been the first man who had ever been kind to him. Brendan had let him get swept up in that feeling, had focused everything on Peter, how if something could finally happen then it would solve everything. That they could run away together, that he would never have to see Seamus again. That everything would just...disappear.

Peter is smarter than Steven, more eloquent. He plays by the rules. He's generous, conventionally attractive, his frame muscular from lifting weights in his bedroom. Brendan's pretty sure he's going to grow up to have a good job, to make money, to be a good father and a husband to someone. He's one of those guys who will follow the right path, whose future is already mapped out in so many ways.

Steven is a mouthy little git. He's rude, has got chucked out of lessons for answering back to teachers. He's stolen things in the past, Brendan colliding into him in town when he's running away from a security guard. He spends any money he has on cigarettes, skips meals with the result that his body is still like a small pubescent boy's, even with the new strength he's built over the summer. He seems to permanently live in baggy tracksuit jumpers and jogging bottoms, his trainers scuffed around the edges. He can pout better than anyone Brendan knows, better than a catwalk model. That accent of his reeks of a council estate, making him stick out like a sore thumb when surrounded by the others Irish tones. Steven's future is unclear, murky. He could end up in prison, or at the very least be on benefits for the rest of his life.

Brendan has known him for a year, ever since Steven and his family moved from Manchester. He was driven mad by the boy's insolent ways, wanted to throttle him sometimes for looking the way he looked, so fucking beautiful that it hurt. He saw him around school, couldn't take his damn eyes off him. Heard his laugh all the way from down the hall, like the boy truly knew what it was to be happy. He would skip along with him and Cheryl after school, so much childlike joy in his movements. Steven seemed to look at the world in a different way to everyone else. Even when he would come into school covered in a multitude of bruises, he would do his best to shrug it off, even when tears would fill his eyes.

Brendan couldn't understand how someone with such a shitty life could be like that, could look at the world and still see something wonderful, could still see something to hope for. He had a way of making anything that Brendan was feeling less dark somehow.

So much homework it would weigh his arms down. _"Soon you'll be out of this place, won't you, Bren?" _

Failing an exam. _"There's alway retakes, isn't there? Honestly, I don't know what you're worrying about."_

Having a cold and being forced to go into school._ "Your voice sounds proper deep, Brendan! It's nice if you ask me. Suits you."_

Being pinned down on his bed the night before, his father punching him in his ribs, a hand over his mouth so no one would hear._ He'd see Steven, and suddenly there was light. There was a reason to live._

Brendan is in love with him, and there isn't a single thing he can do about it.

He pulls Cheryl up in the bed, and she leans against him, her breath warm on his shoulder.

"You're beautiful, Chez. One day you're going to meet someone who likes you for_ you_."

"Uh, don't start all that Brendan - I've heard it all before. Love is about inner beauty, blah blah blah."

"It's true," he says emphatically. "You don't choose these things, do you? It just...happens."

"Well I wish it would bloody happen now."

"Maybe if you come to this party..."

She elbows him. "One track mind!"

"Please?" He tickles up her arm.

"Alright, fine! I do miss Lynsey. And I have been a bit of a cow, haven't I?"

"Maybe just a little bit," he concedes, although he wouldn't want her any other way. It is strangely comforting, that he can always know how Cheryl's going to react.

"So, when is this thing?"

"Uh..." he stands up so he can avoid another elbow attack. "In about...one hour..."

She screeches, and he covers his ears against the onslaught. "One hour? Are you crazy? I'll never be ready in time! I've got to decide what to wear, and do my hair and makeup. Don't even get me started on choosing what shoes to wear -"

He eventually drags her out of the house at a time when they'll still be at least fashionably late. Cheryl seems to have learnt a lesson from the heels incident, and Brendan's grateful that in her pumps they don't have to stop every five minutes while she leans against him for support.

When they walk into Malachy's, Brendan sees people actually cower in fear at his presence, eyeing each other warily. Usually he'd revel in it, striding into the house, enjoying how the crowd would part like the red sea to let him through. He loves the way he can reduce people to a quiver just by staring them down hard enough.

But today it feels unsettling. He wishes he could slip in unnoticed, that people would welcome him rather than fear him. More than anything, he wishes he didn't feel like a freak.

He sees some girls in his year smile at him. Usually that would be his in, his chance to chat them up and stick his tongue down their throats in front of everyone, going through the motions, wondering if that numb feeling would ever disappear.

He is tired of that today, tired of acting in a play of his own life.

"You go and speak to Lynsey while I put our coats away," he says to Cheryl, nodding over to where Lynsey stands getting a drink.

Brendan goes up the stairs, doesn't know what he's going to walk into, wishes that he could secure a sign saying 'coat room' on the door, and tell everyone to find somewhere else to have sex.

When he enters he half closes his eyes, wondering whether it's safe to look.

He doesn't know who jumps more when they see each other, him or Peter.

"Just...putting my coat away," Brendan says, feeling like an idiot for stating the obvious.

"Me too," Peter replies, decidedly as awkward.

There's silence, Brendan laying his and Cheryl's coats down, not knowing whether to settle his eyes on his best friend's face or the less anxiety provoking carpet.

He has missed him, their easy conversation, being around someone who he's known since he was a boy, back when it didn't feel so completely impossible to get close to someone.

"You alright?" Peter asks, and Brendan can't help but be relieved that he sounds like he actually wants to know.

"Yeah...you?"

Peter nods, and the quietness stretches on.

"Well I should get downstairs."

He heads past Brendan, and he knows that if he lets Peter go then this could be it forever now, that it would be so easy to just let the distance grow until all those years of friendship are reduced to nothing.

"Why did you tell Lynsey that I just wanted to be friends with her?" It comes out in a burst of anger, because he is angry, angry that Peter hasn't given up on him, that he didn't tell Lynsey about the kiss. Peter's not doing what's expected, he's not walking away, he's not leaving him like everyone else. Brendan doesn't know what to do with that knowledge, doesn't know what it's like to have someone else fighting his battles for him, when he's always fought them for himself.

Peter looks at him, completely serious, no bullshit, not this time. "I knew you couldn't say it."

Brendan waits for him to continue, still so confused about the fact that he is still here, that he doesn't hate him. _Why doesn't he hate him?_

"I know you're not ready yet, Bren. To tell her...to tell her that. About you."

"There's nothing to tell," he replies immediately, because he's Brendan fucking Brady, he's Seamus's son, _he's not gay._

Peter looks sad now, likes Brendan's just disappointed him somehow. All of this is backwards, like a puzzle which doesn't fit together, all wrong.

"You do know that, don't you Peter?" Brendan feels on the verge of desperation. "That I'm not..."

"Yeah," Peter nods. "Yeah, I know mate. Of course."

"And we're friends again?" He says it jokily, but it feels anything but casual.

Peter stares at him like he understands exactly what he's asking.

"We'll always be friends."

Suddenly it's a little easier to breathe, and when he walks with Peter back downstairs, he's not alone anymore. It doesn't matter that Malachy swears when they walk over to him. It doesn't matter that he asks _"Who invited you?"_ because Peter answers for him _"What are you on about, Mal? It's Brendan, he's one of us, he doesn't have to be invited."_

It doesn't matter when Malachy starts talking about Lynsey like nothing ever happened. It doesn't matter that Brendan's lost that chance, to be with a girl, to sleep with her, to hold her hand and have people see, to bring her home to his family, to look his father in the eyes and say _I'm normal. _

But it does matter when he sees Steven walk through the door. It matters because he matters.

The boy looks out of place, uncertain in these new surroundings. Brendan catches people looking, knows what they're probably thinking, registers their surprise that Steven isn't otherwise entertained doing what they think he does, making money that they think he makes. That Brendan thought he made until a few days ago.

But it's hard to think about that, about the boy's discomfort, even about Brendan's own guilt about what happened that day, because Steven is wearing a shirt, an actual shirt that looks like it's been ironed, and a pair of trousers that definitely don't belong to the tracksuit family.

Everyone else at this party, with their over styled hair, their perfume, their aftershave, their high heels, their fake tan, they may as well not even exist.

Steven locks eyes on him then, can't deny that he hasn't seen him, can't even seem to move for a moment, just standing while people push past him in the hallway. Brendan hates the conveniently timed music in the background, something about love and longing, and _fucking hell, won't someone turn this shit off, he doesn't need a bloody soundtrack. _

Then someone is pulling him, Malachy's hands around his neck, trying to pretend it's some kind of friendly grasp, when really Brendan has the strong belief that the guy wouldn't mind choking him. He's already on his way to getting drunk, the smell of alcohol in Brendan's face.

"So Brady, who have you got your eye on tonight, eh?"

He panics for a second, thinks that he's been found out, but then Malachy starts pointing out the girls to him like they're all interchangeable.

It's not even a choice at all, not right now. Brendan can't tell what he'll be like tomorrow, doesn't know whether he'll want to start the whole exhausting process all over again, choosing a girl, trying to feel something. But tonight everything's telling him to be with Steven, that ever since he walked into his life it's felt less cold, less like a lonely place.

He releases himself from Malachy's hold and tries to find the boy through the crowd. He wonders if it's too late, if Steven's already left, but he goes back upstairs, away from the music and the noise.

He finds him in one of the spare bedrooms, sitting on the bed and looking out of the window. He doesn't even flinch when he hears footsteps behind him. It's like he knew Brendan would come.

"Not a fan of parties?" Brendan asks, and finds his own voice sounds strange to him, different. He clears it.

"Not really, no. I hate them if I'm honest."

"Why did you come then?"He regrets it the minute it comes out, wants to tell Steven that he didn't mean it like that, that he has no idea what it means for him to be here.

"Pete asked me," Steven replies, like it's the simplest thing in the world, like any of this makes any damn sense at all.

But a part of Brendan doesn't have to ask why, knows deep down exactly why Peter would do such a thing. He reckons he's probably known about him and Steven all along, has observed from the sidelines and waited for this moment, like some fucking matchmaker. _"I knew you couldn't say it."_

"Oh. Right."

Steven rubs his eyes, looks as tired as Brendan feels. His shirt's already starting to crease from the way he's been leaning. It makes Brendan want to smile, how he's pretty sure that Steven being _Steven_, the hole in his trousers, hair in tufts Steven, is the one that he's doing all this for.

"I didn't come for him though, not really. I came for you." Brendan almost thinks he's imagined it, can't believe that someone would ever have the guts to say that so casually.

Steven continues looking at the window, like he's talking to himself. "I kept on asking myself why I was still thinking about you, even after you treated me like that. I mean you accused me of being a...of being some kind of whore, Brendan."

"I know -"

"I should never talk to you again, really. It's like you were just after me for a quick blow job. Do you know what it's like, to have people see you a certain way just because of who your family are? I get it, okay. I get why you thought I was...why you believed I charged for sex. What else would you think, the things people say about me? I may not always get it right, but I don't want to be like my mum, Brendan. Or my step dad. Where people can only ever see something bad."

Brendan knows that feeling only too well.

"And like I said, I wondered why. Why I didn't want to kill you. I thought maybe it was something to do with my family. That maybe I'm just always going to go after people who hurt me, you know?"

He never thought he'd see the day that Steven would be talking to him about psychology.

"And is that right?"

He can't bear that it is, can't stand to think that what happened at the beach was because Steven needed to fulfill some toxic need in himself, rather than seeing something in Brendan, something that no one else can truly see.

"No." He looks up at him, blue eyes tough and sure. "I think I just like you, really. More than like."

Brendan thinks that's the nicest thing anyones ever said to him. Or maybe it's just who's saying it.

"I'm probably crazy, because you've been really awful to me in the past, Brendan. But it's the weirdest thing...it's like I know that's not all that you are. Maybe if you just didn't hate yourself so much."

"Steven -" He doesn't need a lecture, doesn't need someone spouting a load of shit that he could pay a therapist for if he wanted to hear it so badly.

"No, listen. Do you ever think how sad it is how much time people spend hating themselves? Like your Cheryl. She thinks she's not good enough for Malachy, thinks that she needs to lose weight or be like everyone else. And Francis - he tells me all the time that he wants to move away, you know? Get out of Ireland, go somewhere where people don't talk about him, where it's okay to be different. But then I see him getting scared again, listening to all those people who say he has something to be ashamed of. And you..."

Brendan doesn't need to hear what he's going to say about him, knows it all already.

"You like me, don't you?"

Brendan nods slowly, can't deny that, can't pretend that he doesn't consume his thoughts day and night, never going away, never giving him a moments peace. His feelings for Steven terrify him. There doesn't seem to be any end to them, and it scares him when he thinks about what he'd do for the boy if he had to. The lengths he'd go to to make him safe.

"Then stop being so fucking afraid and kiss me, won't you?"

He's not going to ask the boy to repeat the question this time, not going to run out of this room and go back to his life, this life which feels like a prison. This is his chance, and Brendan knows he needs to take it, because if he doesn't then he might just die.

He has missed the taste of Steven, the sense that he already knows those lips instinctively, the way they move, the shape, the feel of them, the sounds that come out, the moan that shoots straight to Brendan's groin.

It's still a novelty, taking what he wants, not having to pretend, and he's almost gentle at first, because this thing between them feels fragile, like there's so much to make up for after last time. But Steven demands more wordlessly, pushing Brendan up against the wall, his hands everywhere. Brendan breaks away, goes to the door and locks it, then stares back at Steven apologetically, willing him to understand that it's not him that he's hiding, it's that he's not ready yet, is not sure that he'll ever be ready, but all he knows is that he wants him by his side through this whole thing.

They don't rush things this time, and instead they lie on the bed and kiss, rediscovering the warmth of each others mouths. Brendan whispers against him, _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, _but Steven merely kisses him, reducing the past to dust, all the accusations and the mistakes.

Brendan trails a hand down Steven's cheek, never tiring of the softness of it, or of how his hair looks razor sharp, but it practically melts under his fingertips. He feels powerful like this, moving Steven's arms above his head and holding them there with his weight while beginning an exploration down his body, kissing every inch of skin that he has access to.

He discovers that the boy's ticklish when Brendan kisses his neck, and Steven wriggles and squirms, Brendan letting out a laugh because it's impossible not to when Steven's smiling like that. When he undoes the buttons on Steven's shirt he grows impatient, the peak of golden skin underneath making him want more, and he pops a button, watching as it flies to the floor.

"Oops," he says, nuzzling against Steven's chest, and the boy's breathing merely becomes shallower, and he reaches out and pops another button himself, ripping the shirt until Brendan can take it off him.

Steven's nipples are small and pink, and Brendan learns that he likes making them stiff with his tongue, and gently pulling at them with his teeth. Steven arches underneath him, making half hearted protestations, and he's like a purring kitten when Brendan sucks on a nipple slowly, coating it fully with his saliva.

It briefly comes into his mind, the question of whether Steven has done this before with someone. Brendan thinks the answer's probably yes, and wonders whether this should bother him. It might have done twenty four hours ago, when he wasn't in this bedroom, but now he finds he can shake it away, dislodge the thought from his brain. There is nothing put upon about Steven's actions. He doesn't make noises because he thinks he should. He doesn't use his body in ways that he thinks Brendan will like. He is completely open and as free as anyone Brendan's ever known, and suddenly anyone that may have been _before_ doesn't matter, because now it is just _them_.

Brendan starts rolling down Steven's trousers, and when he puts his hands over his boxers he feels a growing anticipation to get his mouth around his cock again, and see the boy's eyes roll back in his head when he deep throats him. But Steven disarms him by shuffling forwards in the bed and holding Brendan's face between his hands tenderly.

"I want us to come together," he says, and the kiss he gives him is so soft, so in contrast with his uninhibited words.

"What do you want me to do, Steven?" He has to know, has the strongest desire to pleasure another man more than he ever has.

"Like this." Steven strips him of his clothes swiftly, then puts his hands lightly on Brendan's chest, lying him back so his head is on the pillow. "You trust me, yeah?"

Brendan nods his consent, finding he doesn't have an ounce of doubt about this, his entire body wanting it, waiting for this for a whole year.

Steven climbs on top of him so that his arse is close to Brendan's face, his head near Brendan's feet. He adjusts himself so that he's in exactly the right position, and then he moves closer to Brendan's cock. Brendan braces himself, knowing that this is what he's been dreaming of since he can remember, of having that ripe, sweet mouth around him, his cock being enveloped by a wet, willing pair of lips.

Brendan strokes the globes of Steven's arse while he waits for it, and feels a tongue lapping, giving him teasing, frustrating little licks. The boy is just as infuriating at sex as he is at life, holding out on him until Brendan decides to do some persuasion of his own.

Steven was right about what he said. _"__You know exactly what people like me do. We suck other guys cocks, and we take it up the arse, and we love it."_

He feels fucking born to do this, born to have his cock sucked by Steven, born to part the boy's cheeks and probe a tongue, exploring at first before plunging in, licking around his hole, feeling the sensation of Steven's hair clinging to him. He wants to fuck Steven until all the sound is drowned out around him, fuck him until none of the messiness and crap exists anymore, until he can walk up to his father and say _I don't belong to you, I'm not yours_, until he can take Steven away from his home, and heal every bruise with the press of his mouth against his skin.

Steven is moaning so loudly that Brendan is thankful for the thump of the music downstairs. He's momentarily distracted by what Brendan's doing to him, stopping in his own movements on Brendan's cock and rocking back onto his tongue instead. Brendan doesn't care, enjoying the effect he's having on the boy, at his face shining with sweat and awe when he turns back to look at Brendan.

"Put your fingers in me, please."

"As you asked so nicely..."

He licks his own fingers then puts them into Steven's hole. It's tight in there, and he worries that he's going to hurt him, but Steven soon relaxes into it, his mouth opening, his eyes closing. He sighs like he's in a happy place, a beautiful place, then leans forward and licks the head of Brendan's straining cock, and it's better than he'd dreamed, instantly.

It's when Brendan strokes Steven's dick at the same time as fingering him that the boy really begins to come apart. He's almost unintelligible, out of his mind with lust, his body a wreck from the most pleasurable sensations he's ever known.

"Brendan...just like that...yeah...right there..."

Brendan could watch him all day, his arse moving back, fucking himself on Brendan's fingers, his own mouth secured around Brendan's cock when he's not too overwhelmed to take it.

Steven comes first, spilling into Brendan's hand, and the sight of it is enough to tip Brendan over the edge, and he sees Steven swallowing him down, just like Brendan did with him the first time.

Brendan pants, can't believe he's just done that, that he's been that close to someone, done things which felt that right. He thinks about how strange it is, that with a girl he would have felt ashamed and dirty afterwards, and yet here, now, he is pulling Steven closer to him, putting an arm around the boy, wanting him to lie against his chest while they come down from the high.

Steven trails his hands over him, and looks like he could fall asleep right here, in the cocoon of Brendan's own warmth and safety. They almost do, drifting between a state of haziness, but always, always touching, can't imagine a time where they won't touch anymore.

It's not until he feels Steven begin to stroke his cock that Brendan feels fire burning inside of him again. The boy looks at him with a mixture of mischievousness and coyness, fluttering those eyelashes like he already knows that he can get Brendan to do anything he wants.

Brendan doesn't need coaxing. He's already half hard again in minutes, and reaches into his jean's pocket to get a condom. He gets Steven to place it on him, wanting to feel that contact between his hands and his dick. He motions for him to seat himself fully on him, wanting to see that beautiful body of his in all its glory, riding him, his muscles tensing and then relaxing.

Steven kisses him then, mouthing something that sounds a lot like _"I love you"_, and Brendan should be angry, should push him away, but how can he when he's thinking the exact same thing?

Steven is relentless in his movements when riding him, grinding down hard on Brendan's cock, Brendan thrusting up into him every so often, almost knocking the breath out of the boy.

Yeah, he was definitely made to do this.

He listens to himself when he shouts out when climaxing around Steven, hears the abandonment in his own voice, the trust that is present there. It is like expelling a demon that's been trapped in him for a long time, watching it escape from his body and be replaced by nothing but sheer white, by Steven's presence, the belief that he'll hold him when this is all over. That Brendan will allow himself to be held.

Steven claws at Brendan's back while Brendan grips his cock between their two slippery bodies and makes him come. Steven can't see him over his shoulder when Brendan mouths his own words. It's not _"I love you"_, not yet, but it's a silent thanks, for someone letting him be happy for one single day of his life.


End file.
